


Complex

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's getting better at letting go, though his sense of timing needs a bit more work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/gifts).



> Prompt fic from tumblr -- written for **Loz**! The prompt itself was _Sam/Gene, 'secret codes'_ , and I had a whole lot of fun with it! Apparently when I write fic in response to tumblr prompts, it's either a drabble/ficlet or something massive (this'll make more sense once I finally get this one specific story posted) -- there doesn't seem to be a happy medium. This one is more of the latter, rounding out at just over 6k.
> 
> Beta poked at by **talkingtothesky** , who (as ever) offered me general hand holding as well. Thanks. ♥

It happens because of a finger. Gene hadn't meant anything by the gesture, jabbing at the corner of Sam's mouth. Sam's mouth, on a good day, had its uses – especially if it was saying the things Gene wanted it to say. Today was hardly a good day, not with Jack Wilson back out on the street all because of a loophole – one _Sam_ had pointed out, obnoxiously enough.

'He'll lead us back to his dealer,' Sam had said, smugly. Gene was in a thoroughly foul mood already because of the entire fiasco, and the worst part of it was, he knew Sam was right. Sam had turned his back on Gene and left out the swinging doors to the hallway beyond, and Gene was annoyed enough that he felt like he needed to make a point. So he followed, backed Sam up against the wall, and proceeded to jab at Sam's bloody obnoxious gob with his very irate forefinger. Why this day had to be different than any other, Gene doesn't know. Of Sam's numerous bad habits, his tendency to spout off things Gene took exception to was close to the top. After all, while Sam was good at a variety of different things, most of those things ended up pissing Gene off.

Sam's brow knits together in confusion, a crinkle of it across his forehead. He opens his mouth, closes it, and the confusion smooths out as he grins, _that_ grin, the bastard one of his that's just as attractive as it is amused at itself. As much as Gene _likes_ that grin – and he does like it, a whole bloody lot – it still makes him grit his teeth together in frustration, like he's doing right now. It's a grin that's torn his world apart, time and time again. Never could make up his mind as whether he should punch Sam, or kiss him, and if he _did_ punch him, he'd of course have to kiss him anyhow, just to make it all better.

Gene goes to open his mouth again, because the day's been long but the night is longer and Sam's still not learned his lesson. Sam does something else with his own, something that Gene couldn't have ever expected, catching him completely off guard.

Sam's tongue flicks out, warm, wet heat, swiping at Gene's forefinger, quick as a bloody dart. Gene blinks, stunned, and even Sam's breath stirs warm against the wet patch he'd left behind.

'What – '

Sam's still grinning, still full of himself, smugly certain of what he's doing. There's a part of Gene's mind that's telling him, no, no, _no_ , but the rest of his body doesn't seem to care to listen to it as Sam takes it one step further, and what Gene does to stop him amounts to a bloody tonne of nothing. Sam reaches out, takes Gene's wrist in one hand, tugging his hand closer to Sam's mouth, gentle enough, reassuringly firm.

Gene's forefinger is still extended, as shocked as the rest of him, and Sam guides said finger into his own aforementioned obnoxious gob, which – for all its numerous, and bloody irritating qualities – has some good ones as well.

Sam makes a slow show of sucking Gene's finger into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the tip at first, another wet slip rubbing along the underside, his tongue amazingly soft. It's the first sharp scrape of teeth that makes Gene groan, Sam biting down just hard enough to hold Gene's finger in place. He wants to ask himself why it's as arousing as it is, but that's easy enough to answer: it's Sam's mouth that's got such a firm grip on him, and them being out in the open in the hallway can't help.

That's why Gene's suddenly aware of needing to say something, because this is dangerous – anyone could come down the hall, at any bloody time, and catch them in the middle of... well, in the middle of whatever this happens to be.

'Sam.' He groans, and Sam sucks in more of his finger, cradling his tongue about it, his top front teeth biting down harder just below the first knuckle. Gene's pants are getting tighter and tighter, but he's doing an admirable job of keeping control of his breathing. He still needs to tell Sam to stop, but the thought is distant, hardly an issue, and while they've crossed a bloody dangerous line there's some part of him that wants to see just how far Sam's willing to go.

It's at least something of an oral fixation – Sam has a bloody bad habit of sticking all sorts of random things in his mouth, though mostly it's pens, which leads to no lack of frustration on Gene's part, seeing as Sam is (as far as he knows) too sodding oblivious to see what his sucking on random foreign objects does to his Guv. It isn't that Gene doesn't already know the feel of Sam's mouth, and on parts of his anatomy that are rather more filthy than this one finger, but there's an innocence about the perversion that makes it all the more wrong.

Not oblivious at all though, is he, not right now, with his mouth wrapped around Gene's finger, teeth continuing to scrape against skin, Sam having taken the digit itself in fully, almost down to the root of it. The slow slip of his tongue, soft and wet, and Gene holding himself as still as he possibly can, feeling each twitch of Sam's mouth, each twitch of his own hardening cock, trapped in his trousers. No, Sam's not oblivious, keeping hold of him, licking and sucking, looking at him from beneath the dark flutter of his lashes. The tilt of his eyes hints at one thing specifically – that he knows just what he's doing here, and he knows he's the one who's been left in control.

Only the pressure lightens, teeth light against the top of the finger, tongue still soft and wet beneath it. Sam's offering him something, and Gene knows what it is. His cheeks are burning, he feels the sweat pooling at the small of his back, and he slowly – agonisingly so – drags his finger backwards, out of Sam's mouth, only stopping when the tip is resting between Sam's teeth.

Gene looks at Sam's mouth, the curve of his lips where they wrap around Gene's finger, drags his gaze upwards, sees the whole of Sam's face, the dark pools of his eyes, the bright patches of colour high up in his cheeks, the glimmer of sweat on his brow. There was a point in there, somewhere along the way, where Gene knows he was attempting to make a _point_ , but that momentum has derailed into something else entirely. All he's currently able to do is start the slow process of pushing his finger back into the endless damp heat of Sam's mouth.

It's an unspoken agreement they have, rather like everything else that's gone unsaid that somehow manages to define this thing that is their relationship, the line between working and play, between sheriff and deputy, whatever is left over at the end of everything else that makes them Gene and Sam. You don't talk about things, then things end up happening that shouldn't, because lacking clear definition means it's likely to all end up going to bollocks. It's something that gnaws at Gene's gut, makes him _worry_ , the thought of that line breaking down, that each time he looks at Sam it turns to a linger, that someone will see something they ought not, say something when there's nothing to be said. Reminds him of how this is all wrong but he's long since convinced himself it's the right sort of wrong. They have a few rules, but they're all unspoken. Gene's certain one of those rules would be 'don't finger-fuck your DI's mouth while you're both on duty', only here they both are, all caution thrown to the wind.

Because he's standing in an open hallway right now, Sam's mouth perfect and wet around his finger, knowing they could be caught at any moment, and not doing one bloody thing about it. He needs to care about the risk they're both taking, because that's what it is, and at least one of them should care. He never knows what's going on inside Sam's head, and mostly doesn't want to, so whether Sam cares or not, there's no telling. Gene's only aware of one thing, and completely certain of that one thing: he definitely doesn't care.

Such a dangerous thing to do, not stopping, not as he feels different sets of walls closing in around him – some of them being actual walls, and some of them being Sam's mouth. He's going to shoot off in his pants, held in Sam's hand, caught in Sam's mouth, and Gene's forced to brace one hand against the wall as his knees threaten to buckle beneath him. This is too much. He knows he needs to say something, to stop it, because he's burning up and sweat is trickling down the back of his neck. Sam's eyes slip closed as he moans, the scrape of teeth, wet suction all around Gene's finger, Gene's legs trembling as a groan catches in his throat.

Gene's swimming beneath the surreality of it all, the impossibility, and it's another shuddering groan that forces him back to the surface. The lift doors make a heavy noise as they slide open, but Gene's already yanked his finger from Sam's mouth, looking sideways at the pair of plod who are walking this way. There's no chance they saw anything, he moved too quick, but he's in an obvious state of distress, and so is Sam.

Sam, who Gene's looking at again, his eyes gone wide, his lips still parted, backs up against the wall as if he anticipates the punch before Gene even thinks to throw it.

Sam grunts and drops to his knees, doubled over in pain. The pair of plod are closer now, even closer, and Gene turns to shoot a glare at them and if they even thought to say something, they keep their mouths shut and hurry on by instead. The glare follows them until they've turned the corner and are out of Gene's sight, but he's hot all over and he's angry still, and he can't have Sam around him right now, he just can't.

Gene hears but doesn't see Sam picking himself back up, because he turns away as well, having decided that ignoring Sam is the best and only course of action he needs to follow. By saying nothing he's doing everything, which means that the matter has been dealt with, at least for now.

–

He always knew he would end up too deep in this. It never should have started, and Gene's sure he could break it off easily enough – only it might just force Sam out of his life completely if that happened, and for as much of a pain Sam is, Gene's never really wanted _that_. He's come close, because Sam's a proper bastard at times, and Gene hadn't know what else to do. Whenever he pushes Sam away from him, like a bloodhound with a scent, Sam's driving right back.

Gene's never wanted that, losing Sam, even when all Sam wanted to do was leave him – and their team – behind. Only Sam never actually _tried_ to leave, and the one time he could have, he came back – and while Gene's trust was dented for a while after the debacle at the train tunnel, Sam's unswerving dedication to the job, his rededication in regards to doing right by his DCI, had Gene bouncing back. Even if Sam mostly still went on about procedure and making sure things got done by the book, something had changed.

It wasn't just that they were shagging. They'd done that on and off for enough time, it was old hat by now, and while Gene never had expected it to happen, he got used to it quick enough. He had some issues with it, because there should be certain boundaries, and he knew it wasn't proper for him to shag a subordinate. Only when had Gene Hunt ever cared to be proper? The way Sam sometimes acted, it's like the prick thought _he_ should be the DCI, which somehow made it easy for Gene to regard Sam as an equal rather than a lesser. A proper partner, in fact.

What he does to Sam when they're at Sam's shitty flat, or the odd time they go to Gene's home instead, that's one thing – the best bloody thing, really, one more addiction he's unwilling to label as such, and just as unable to make himself break. Work, though, is another matter completely. He stares too much at Sam as is, and it's a problem that started the first day Sam pranced into CID.

For all the good he can admit that Sam's done, sometimes he backtracks and they're at the start of it all over. There's days where Sam doesn't respect his own limits, let alone their work boundaries, let alone _Gene_. Only for as problematic as that could be, Gene's not blind, and he's also not daft – he knows that Sam's way of looking at Gene as an equal instead of a superior is what makes them such a good team. Sam's loyal in his own way, and just like Gene he's not blind, so the mix of those two things helps keep it real.

Which just goes to show how much Sam's an influence in his life these days, because he wouldn't have put it like that if it hadn't been for _Sam_.

–

The pub happens, like clockwork, even if Gene had spent the rest of the work day avoiding Sam, sending him out on one shout after another. Beer o'clock follows, and Sam buys him a few rounds, as if to soften his mood. It works, just the way it always does. Gene gives Sam a lift back to his flat, because he feels like being decent. He also wants to make sure they've arrived before it ends up pissing down rain.

That's where they are now, in Sam's seedy little flat, Gene sat at the lone table by the window, Sam up and about and playing the proper little hostess. Sam hands him a glass, but it's not his first drink since they arrived at the bed-sit, and Gene grunts and nods at him in lieu of proper thanks.

Sometimes a proper groundwork needs to be established before you get to the meat of the problem, and Gene's known from the moment he stepped into Sam's flat and threw his coat up onto the hanging hook behind the door, that he wouldn't feel like doing any talking until he'd knocked back shot number four.

So when it finally happens, like clockwork at that, the liquor tingling on its way down, Gene scowls at Sam and heaves a heavy sigh. 'I'm starting to think _self preservation_ is missing from your skillset, Tyler. Not really your bag though, is it?'

Sam grins, tilting his glass back towards his mouth. His eyes slide shut and his head tips back as he takes a drink, and there's a click to the right as he sets his glass back down. Gene's not looking at that. Gene's looking at _Sam_. Sam, mouth closed around the whisky, letting it sit there, swishing his tongue about. Gene's having trouble holding onto his glass now, but he's also having to grip at one of the arms of the chair as Sam's cheeks hollow out as he swallows the whisky down.

Gene lets a rough breath out, feels his nerves peeling back, frazzling all over. He slams his glass down and rips his hand free from where he'd been hanging onto the chair, wipes at his brow. 'As I was saying. Ruddy prick tease.'

Sam shrugs, staring at his glass, thumb stroking back and forth along the outside of it absently, and even _that_ could drive Gene to distraction. 'Not teasing anymore.'

Gene's up from his chair before he's even aware of having moved, leaving his glass behind, advancing the few steps he needs to before reaching out to grab Sam's arm, yanking him up from his seat. Sam stumbles in the wake of his unexpected relocation, eyes startlingly wide, laughing just as suddenly as he crashes forwards into Gene.

He's righting himself and Gene's tipping Sam's chin up, his heart thumping painfully fast, and the kiss is sloppy and wonderful and just as sudden as everything else has been, these past few seconds. Gene hadn't thought of kissing Sam like this when they'd been alone in the hallway, had gone and hit him instead, but if he made himself sit and think about it at all, this is the way he'd have kissed Sam, if he'd taken the chance.

Sam grabs hold of him and Gene does the same, Sam's wrist in one hand and his other pressed at the back of Sam's neck, Sam yanking on Gene's tie and steadying himself, gripping at Gene's arm. They spin around, kissing and moving, stumbling one way and then the other, kissing the way they fight, fighting like they mean to dance. There's a series of clinks as Gene's hip slams into the table, and then they're stumbling away, still turning, still kissing, as much a fight as anything that relied purely on their fists.

He hits the bed frame with the back of one leg and tumbles backwards, his own eyes going wide as he ends up on his arse. Sam's let go of him, and Gene supposes it's a good thing he'd lost his grip on Sam in turn, because Sam – a bit wild-eyed, right now, lips parted, panting hard – is looking down at him from on high, eyeing him like he means to eat him up.

Sam hardly ever lets loose, so the look in Sam's eyes seems dangerous and Gene's attracted to it in the same way he's pulled towards all of Sam's sharp edges. Sam grins, eyes brighter now, and he takes one small step forward and drops neatly to his knees. He cringes, because taking a fall like that must have hurt, and Gene could call him daft for it but all he can do is look at him, instead. Sam, on his knees between Gene's spread legs, looking for all the world like the cat that's finally got at the canary.

Gene forgets how to speak, at least for the space that spans three rapid beats of his heart. 'Good look for you, y'know. Never get tired of you, seeing you down on your knees.' He feels like he needs to tie this back to the start of things, and Gene goes to do just that. And, just like that, it starts with a finger. He reaches down, forefinger brushing up along the curve of Sam's cheek, Sam tilting his head into Gene's touch.

'Come on,' he whispers, Sam's blinking his eyes, cheeks red, eyes dark with lust. 'What was going on in that head of yours today, sucking my finger like that, when anyone could've come by and _seen_? Were you even _thinking_?'

Sam blinks again, nips at the inside of his lower lip, and when he's finishing biting himself, he gives Gene the sweetest of smiles. 'Oh yeah, I was thinking plenty.' His voice, low, rough, sets Gene's already straining trousers to feeling suddenly, painfully, horribly tight, and Gene groans and shifts.

'Yeah?'

'Yeah – ' Gene's hand drops away, and Sam leans in so he can loop his arms up and around Gene's thighs, hands atop them, forearms snug beneath them. He nuzzles at Gene's erection and Gene throws his head back, shuts his eyes. 'Was wishing I was sucking on this instead.'

'Oh?' Gene's breath catches, his voice gone suddenly rough. He's too high, all of a sudden, and he drops and he's falling, Sam mouthing at him, rubbing at the fabric, straining against his hard dick, and Sam stops moving and he _sucks_ , harder now, warm, damp, like he means for Gene to come right in his trousers.

Only Sam eases off, and Gene shakes his head, tries to get a grip on himself. He blinks, scowls down at Sam, only for Sam to grin in return, determinedly smug. 'Big talk.'

'You know me, I've got a big mouth.' Sam winks, though maybe that was just Gene's oversexed mind playing tricks on him, ones he doesn't completely mind. 'Which is a very good thing, because yours is the biggest dick I've ever had the pleasure to suck.'

'Oh Jesus – '

Sam huffs out a laugh, loosens his grip on Gene's legs, shifting about. He rises up on his knees, sets to loosening Gene's belt, his trousers, tugging his zip down and Gene's blood is so hot now, the whole of him is on fire. 'I love this. Getting down on my knees for you.' He's got his hands on Gene's cock now, and Gene's mental capabilities have been reduced to nodding and groaning, and trying not to drool.

He strokes, fingers smooth, motions rough. Gene grips at the duvet in one hand, Sam's shoulder in the other, Sam fluttering his lashes at him and pushing Gene closer and closer to the edge. 'Love making you beg me to let you come.'

'I – oh shit, _Sam_.'

Sam's always pushing himself, pushing _Gene_ , always trying his hardest, doing his best, and of course that carries over to the clandestine side of things. Like, when his mouth ends up on his DCI's dick, he isn't timid, he doesn't seem to know what the meaning of the word is, licking up along the underside of the shaft and keeping his fist gripped tight of the base. He swallows Gene whole, the way he's ripped through Gene's life like a storm, and Gene blinks and groans and tightens his hold on the bed and Sam both.

There's a tug on his tie, Sam's fingers wrapping themselves up in tight polyester, and he keeps a tight hold on that – like a leash – as he licks and sucks Gene's prick, wet slurping sounds, loud and obscene now where the scene in the hall had been, for all intents and purposes, prim and proper and virginal, at least in comparison. Sam hums, contented, sucking harder, the hand that's got a grip on Gene's prick pumping, slow, steady, saliva dribbling down and making a mess of them both. Sam sucks his way back up, pays special attention to the tip, the light graze of his teeth causing Gene to groan again, hot, harder, faster, and he finds that he's rambling and he _is_ begging, wanting Sam to just get it over with, _now_ , needing it more than he should care to want it, and wanting it because it happens to be Sam.

Sam, because he pays attention to the little details, keeps up his attack, lacking any mercy. It's hard, what Gene wants, and nothing at all like the finger-play, back in the hall. There's sudden buzzing in Gene's ears, and it builds and builds and _builds_ in intensity, and he scrabbles at Sam's shoulder and convulses as he tries not lose himself completely. It scares him, because for a moment that's all he really wants to do, and how did this even start and how has it ever progressed, and why didn't he stop it when he still had a chance to?

But Sam eases back off again, and Gene curses. 'You little – '

Sam sucks softly at the head, licks across the slit, and Gene groans again and digs into Sam's shoulder – he's somewhat gratified, at least, when Sam moans, and it's half pain and half pleasure. Giving his back, even as Sam takes more and more of him in his mouth. 'If you don't just – come on – _please_ , let me, _please_.'

Good manners are important, after all, and Sam stops playing around and gives it his all, sucking and stroking and when Gene cries out – when he can't fight it off any more, and he wouldn't want to anyhow, when his bones are already going limp from the force of his orgasm, Sam's sucking him down.

He slumps back and supports himself with the one arm as Sam eases off of him completely. Sam makes a show of sitting there, and Gene watches him through half-lidded eyes, Sam tipping his head back and – rather like the show with the whisky, earlier that night – he swishes his tongue about before he swallows Gene's load down.

'You little slut,' Gene gasps, and he knows he means it as a compliment, because they've had this discussion before – as much as you can call it a _discussion_ – but it's not like Sam would do this with anyone else. He's always been too good at it for it to be his first, and Gene's glad that Sam knew what he was doing, because Gene – at the start of it, anyhow – had rather been at a loss.

He ruffles Sam's hair with one hand, and Sam licks at his lips – wipes at the mess that had run down his chin – with his own hand, grinning up at Gene, shameless, a bit too beautiful for any bloke to be. 'You're welcome.' He puts a hand on Gene's leg to help push himself up, and Gene snorts helplessly and laughs and reaches out to slip an arm around Sam's waist, tugging him back down. Gene doesn't collapse, but Sam does, pressing hard against his thigh.

'Whatever shall we do about _that_?'

Sam grins, his cheeks pleasantly pink. 'I dunno. You're clever when you need to be, I'm sure you can figure out _something_.' What ends up happening is they tussle a bit, Gene flipping Sam over and Sam rolling Gene onto his back, and they tug at each other's clothing and they kiss and they _touch_. Sam ends up with his back to the wall, and this time it's Gene that's pressed between his legs. Sam whimpers whenever his erection rubs too hard against Gene's gut, but it's clearly something he can't get enough of, because he never actually tries to pull away.

'Hey. Just...' Sam's hand on his cheek, the brush of his fingers. 'Just kiss me 'til you're hard again. Then fuck me like you really mean it, okay?' There's no telling how long that might be, refractory period, and Gene turns his head just enough so he can nuzzle at Sam's palm, then kiss it.

'As you wish.'

Sam snickers, and Gene slants a look at him, scowls. 'What? Am I a comedian all of a sudden?'

'You'll get it eventually.' Sam's not grinning now, he's smiling instead, and for as much as Gene is fond of Sam's many grins, he likes the smiles that much more. He presses in to touch it directly, easing into slow, haphazard snogging.

Sam whimpers and squirms against him, but Gene's already been given his orders – as much as he looks at them as _orders_ , because really, he doesn't – and Sam's not getting what he wants from him until Gene is good and ready.

–

'Doesn't matter what we get up to in private,' he growls, the morning after, well-fed and well-sated, as well as freshly showered. He smacks Sam's arse as the other bloke sashays by, only Sam stops and Gene ends up sighing and he squeezes where he'd previously smacked. 'What? Don't expect me to kiss the thing, sit down and finish your bloody brekkie.'

Sam snorts a little, trying not to laugh, and he does as he's been told – or maybe, being Sam, just does as he pleases – and heads on over to the other side of the little table and drops down into his seat, wincing as he does. That, of course, causes Gene to grin, even as he knows this is no laughing matter. Well, Sam sore after a good shag – that's one thing. This thing they can't do at work, the one that's too sodding dangerous, that's something else entirely.

'You of all people should know we need to do this by the book. Be careful. Not go sucking on each other's appendages in public.'

Sam raises one eyebrow sharply. He's just as freshly washed as Gene is, seeing as – for sake of making sure the hot water lasted – they showered at the same time. 'It's an interesting enough point you're trying to raise – do go on.'

Gene groans and rolls his eyes, takes a long drink of his tea, and – because he can be courteous when he needs to – turns away before he belches. Turning back to glare at Sam, he slams the empty mug down, grabs up his fork and spears a thick piece of bacon. 'What you did yesterday, that was a bloody big risk.'

'Yes,' Sam eyes him critically, all the while licking the yoghurt from his finger. Gene growls again, and Sam grins, shrugging – hardly as apologetic as he ought to be, and Gene needs to mind it more, because Sam doesn't seem to understand just how important this is. 'Er, sorry,' Sam goes on, rubbing at the back of his neck. 'I don't think I do it all on purpose, but at the same time...' He shrugs again, slides same hand forward, palm flat to the table. 'I rather do enjoy riling you up.'

Gene huffs out a laugh, grabs Sam's hand and squeezes it, tight. 'Never did notice that, did I? Must be blind.' He's teasing back at Sam's teasing, and Sam's smile brightens. Gene yanks his hand away, and Sam shakes his head, and what a sad little sigh that is, slipping from between his pink lips. Gene finds himself sighing as well, and his frown is the absolute perfect accompaniment for the bastard bloody thing. 'We need to be careful, that's all.'

Sam straightens up in his seat, grabs his container of yoghurt and stirs the spoon around in it, looking downward, thoughtful and calm. 'Careful – I can do careful.'

Another sigh – Gene doesn't like this at all, this trying to talk things out, but somehow he gets the feeling that just hitting Sam won't make him understand. 'Like... let's go at it like ruddy rabbits if you want to, but we can't go starting things at _work_. Someone might catch us. I know, I know, it's not exactly illegal now, what we do, but the Chief Super would still have our arses for it – and our badges. Might end up somewhere unpleasant.'

'I hear what you're saying.' Sam sucks on his bottom lip, head tilted down. The look he shoots Gene comes from beneath the dark of his lashes, somehow sombre, somehow contrite. 'Could end up in an asylum. They think it's a sickness, being queer. Loving something, there's... there's nothing wrong with that.'

'I'm going to ignore that one, Marjorie.'

'But don't worry, Guv – by the eighties, they'll have lightened up plenty.'

'I'm choosing to ignore that one as well.'

Sam shakes his head as he rolls his eyes, licks his spoon before driving it back into the yoghurt. 'Sorry, forgot who I was speaking to. Just, I... maybe we could, I dunno, work out a code? I could forget to do my top button and what it really means is that I'm looking forward to you bending me over and doing me, hard?' He stirs his yoghurt a bit more, and if Sam had meant to lighten the mood then he's done a bloody good job of it, because Gene's trying not to choke as he coughs. And all that because he doesn't want to admit defeat and laugh.

'Yeah,' Gene goes on, at least once he's able to, glowering at Sam, who's exhibiting a total lack of remorse. 'And when I punch you because you're a bloody git, it means what I want, really want, is for you to suck me off. Just, somewhere discreet. Teamwork is one thing, but there's just some things the team doesn't need to know.'

Sam hesitates, spoon halfway to his mouth. 'How about if... If I suck on a biro's cap, it means I want _you_ down on your knees.'

'Fountain pen?' Gene raises an eyebrow, drags the last of his too-buttered toast through the last of his somewhat cold eggs, finishing them off neatly and sucking on his fingers, one by one.

He guesses he can do it too, because Sam watches him, quietly appraising him, until he's finished with his thumb. 'What? Have I done something to offend your less than virginal morals?”

Sam shakes his head, chuckles. 'I do have napkins, you know.'

'Suppose you ought to learn how to use them yourself.'

Sam shrugs, stirs at his yoghurt, but it's gone beyond meaningful, and wandered out into senseless. 'You know, this code thing... it could maybe work.'

'What, you like the thought of sucking on a fountain pen that much?'

'Well, as long as I don't end up sucking on the wrong end and getting ink in my mouth...' Sam's spoon sinks back into his yoghurt, his hand gone to rest against his forehead, shaking all over as he starts to laugh. Not that Gene can blame him, seeing how he's chuckling as well. Sam peeks at him from between his fingers, blushing slightly, grinning too much. He never gets tired of watching Sam loosen up – he likes to feel it happens more and more these days, and all because of _him_.

'I don't know – what do _you_ think? We'd have to... look at it like we were undercover. Undercover in our own lives. And just saying that out loud sounds absolutely ridiculous, forget I said it at all.'

Only the thing is, he knows Sam is right, and this time, he doesn't mind admitting it. So he reaches out to get Sam's attention, tapping the corner of his mouth. Sam blinks, stares at him, gaping at him. 'For one thing, close your mouth – you look like a bloody div.'

Sam grumbles and shuts his mouth, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Gene's finger once he has. 'And the second thing is?'

'I dunno. Just, you may have a point – that is, you might be right about this plan of yours.'

Sam blinks, blinks again, and he starts to smile as his eyes widen. 'You really think so?'

'Yeah, I mean – a bit ridiculous, but a bit worthwhile, too? Something I doubt would be much trouble, working it into our daily routine. You can even draw up a chart or something, I'm sure you'd love _that_.'

'Actually, you know, I think I would.'

'Good, because...' The levity shifts. Gene shakes his head. He wants to reach out and squeeze Sam's hand again, which was easy when he hadn't meant to, but now it's impossibly hard. 'Don't need to end up losing you, Sam, because you're too daft to play it safe and do things _right_.'

'Yes, well...'

Gene presses onwards. 'Almost lost you the once, after all – rather not run the risk of it happening again.' He doesn't even need to mention Crane's name, because Sam's a sharp, clever bastard – he knows what Gene's getting at, and Gene watches the realisation dawn in Sam's eyes as he gives a sudden, sharp nod.

Sam sits back, and his expression's appropriately sombre now. 'You're right.' He shakes his head, looks askance, and his grin is brighter when he decides to slant his eyes back in Gene's direction, it's duly noticed. 'You know, _you_ – wanting to do things _proper_ , careful, by the _book_. That really gives me the horn.'

Gene barks out a laugh, loud and sharp. 'You're impossible. First you say I'm right – without me having to twist your arm about, mind – and then... you're a ruddy nympho, aren't you?'

'Hardly – just bisexual. Though I guess in this day and age, it's pretty much looked at as being the same thing.' Sam shrugs, lips twitching into a merry little smirk. He spoons another mouthful of yoghurt into his mouth, swallows it down, licks absently at the non-existent remnants.

'Honestly,' Gene growls, and Sam chuckles. This time, when he winks, Gene knows what's happened – it's certainly no ruddy trick of his mind.

'Just can't help it, Gene – you bring out the best in me.'

There's one small smudge of white, just to the left of Sam's mouth – how Sam's tongue ever missed it, Gene'll never know. He leans over, reaches out, wipes the bit of yoghurt away, holds his thumb steady, right in front of Sam's mouth, just to see what he does. Reaching out and holding Sam's hand? Properly impossible. Offering the pervy little sod the chance to suck on his thumb? The sky really is the limit.

Sam chokes a little, but his grin sharpens. 'Though by best I clearly mean _worst_.' His eyes slide shut as he leans a bit closer, tongue flicking soft and hot and wet across the pad of Gene's thumb. Gene groans, a rumble of heat. At this rate, they'll end up late to work. Sam looks up at him, not that he tilts his head back, so it's slanted through the dark of his lashes, and he exhibits no shame whatsoever as he sucks the tip of Gene's thumb into his mouth, nipping at it.

'Right again?' Gene shudders as he groans. 'Will wonders never cease?'

Only the truth of the matter is, because there's no prying eyes round to spoil the fun, Gene honestly doesn't care.


End file.
